Float
by NaturalBlu
Summary: Steve Rogers is drowning, but Sam Wilson won't let him go under.


Steve Rogers doesn't sleep well.

Steve Rogers wakes in the night, reaching desperately and yelling for someone who may or may not still exist.

Steve Rogers is _drowning_ and Sam Wilson is doing what he can to keep his friend's head above water (because Steve _is_ his friend and if he's got anything to say to the contrary that's too damn bad).

Sam knows what it's like, to wake up reaching for someone… What's harder to grasp is the thought of that someone returning; the ghost of what was- what might still be, appearing; _alive_. This ghost who Steve reaches for in his waking hours, desperate for some sign of the man he knew…

Twice they've gotten close, but twice Bucky (if Bucky _is_ still in there somewhere) has slipped away. Sam recognizes the fresh waves of grief that crash through Steve; the ones he fights with determination- with force of will. If sheer stubbornness was an Olympic sport, Steve would have _all_ the golds and probably get accused of doping because _how are you this stubborn, god damn_. But it's more than stubborn, that's the thing. It's _hope_, too. Hope for the best in people; in this ghost. _I know he's there,_ Steve says it every time he senses doubt, and that's where hope and stubborn push together into this sureness that makes Sam want, more than anything, to believe too. It's who Steve is and it's giving him drive. It's giving _Sam_ drive, too, and they are gonna track down James Buchanan Barnes so Steve can hug him or hit him or whatever it is he plans to do (Sam's not entirely sure _Steve_ even knows yet).

Steve wakes again, gasping and clawing at the empty air, _BUCKY!_ an anguished, ragged sound on his lips. Sam is there in an instant, gripping Steve's shoulder and squeezing hard.

_Come back._

Steve's drowning and Sam won't leave him alone in the ocean even if all he can be is some pair of weakass water wingys. His arms wrap around his friend, dragging him up from cold depths, and he feels the beginnings of relief as the tension in Steve's muscles starts to fade.

"Sorry…" Steve breathes and Sam shakes his head, squeezing him a little tighter.

"Man, shut up."

Even in the semi-dark, Sam can see that Steve's smile is half-hearted, but it's something. He flops back, dragging Steve with him and pats him on the chest.

"Breathe."

Something flickers in Steve's eyes, so brief a second that Sam can't quite make out just what it is. Something far away, he suspects. Something from before.

He seems to contemplate for a moment then takes a deep breath and exaggeratedly huffs it out, smirking faintly. "I sound like you, _running_."

"You shit." Sam smirks. "You wait, one day I'm gonna tweet about how mean Captain America is."

"_You talk to birds, too?_"

"You know what twitter is, jackass."

Sam eyes Steve knowingly… though his muscles are uncoiling, he's sure that the dream lingers on at the corners of Steve's vision. He gives Steve's far shoulder another squeeze before giving his arm a twitch. "Geez, you're heavy." He pulls his arm free as Steve obligingly shifts his weight, only to roll onto his side and drape his other arm over his friend's chest. Hand on Steve's shoulder, he pats lightly again and settles.

"You ok?" The words settle heavy between them.

"I'm ok."

For someone who's always honest, Steve tells that lie a lot. To Natasha, to Sam, to himself.

"You will be, anyway."

Blue eyes regard him for a while and at length Steve does murmur a quiet admission… a "Maybe" in the dark; a secret between them. Sam nods and doesn't push for more because even a secret "maybe" is a huge step and Sam can't help it when he gives Steve's shoulder another tight squeeze because he's _proud_ of his friend and he needs Steve to know that he's not in it alone, not as long as Sam is alive and breathing.

"I got your back." He says simply, and he's glad to see the shadow of a smile tug at the corners of Steve's mouth.

"Thanks." He answers with a nod, dragging a hand through his blond hair. "Thank you."

"Hey, you're good people, Cap."

There's the shadow of the smile again, this time with a faint air of self-deprecation. He shrugs his shoulders and rolls onto his side, looking hard at Sam. "Hey…"

Sam draws his hand back, watchful as Steve props himself up on one elbow and leans in close.

"…On your left." He whispers.

Sam grins slowly then shoves Steve clean out of the bed.


End file.
